You won't believe the day I had

“Mama…Mama…Mama.”

Every morning starts the same: my 16-month-old daughter screaming between 5:30-6:00am, intent upon disregarding the Zuberi house rule of a 7am wake-up.

On this particular morning we had a busy day planned but managed a mellow breakfast. That was until at quarter to nine I remembered the cleaners come. At nine. A frenzied, all-hands-on-deck stress clean commenced—with the exception of the 16-month-old, she just continued pulling everything out of cabinets and books off shelves, as she does, totally not helpful. I had to start making strategic choices.

“Abandon the bedrooms! The cleaners will be here in T-two minutes. All bodies downstairs. We’ll ask the cleaners to start downstairs and then retreat upstairs to finish those rooms while the cleaners get started downstairs.”

Nothing like hiring cleaners (and then forgetting when they come) to whip you into a cleaning burst you never have energy for otherwise.

I had handled the unexpected cleaner debacle, though I had not anticipated donning the role of Major Lieutenant Officer Ashley Zuberi that day; she appears on tight timelines when I have to race against the imagined expectations of others. The first fire drill of the day cleared, it was time to prepare, hastily and now behind schedule, for the first actual planned outing of the day—a trip to the Building Museum. I wanted to check out a popular temporary exhibit called The Playground. A perfect morning activity for the kids on a 100-degree summer day with poor air quality (thanks Canada). I wrangled everyone into the car, shoving peanut butter crackers into everyone’s hands as we walked out the door.

It’s here I need to pause and tell you that these 100-degree days are one of many reasons why, from time-to-time, my husband and I contemplate moving back to Ohio. These sentiments show up when we long for cool evenings and the Lake Erie breeze, my husband’s job really sucks and he yearns for a shorter commute and slower pace of living, or we have one of those days when it just would have been a lot easier to be close to family. But then, there are a lot more reasons why we love where we live, one being the school communities we’ve fostered for and with our children.

Mainly, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to replicate my children’s educational experience in Northeast Ohio. A few days ago on a whim, (see 100-degree heatwaves), I started doing a little more digging, and happened to find one school in the greater Northeast Ohio region that matches the progressive education philosophy of my son’s current school. Progressive schools are not that common —this educational philosophy started in the late 19th century and was promoted by John Dewey of the Dewey Decimal System (I know, total #nerd). Anyway, I was excited that I found this school and I started thinking that maybe we could move back to Ohio someday and retain that same educational experience we have here.

Okay. Back to the car. As we were driving over the 14th Street bridge, my almost-5-year old shouted excitedly to her brother, “Look! It’s the giant pencil.” I chuckled to myself and appreciated the cute moment. We merged off 395 and stopped at a red light. I noticed the car in front of us had an Ohio license plate, which isn’t that unusual. Us Ohioans are famous for leaving the state. But I kid you not, this car had a bumper sticker for the very school I had just been researching. Whoever was sitting in that car sent their children to the school I had been thinking about non-stop for the past week. It was a sign. I snapped a picture, sent it to my husband, and missed my turn. I proceeded to drive around DC for the next half-hour trying to find parking. After a complete fail in the world’s lowest-ceiling-height parking garage ever created by man (what were you thinking, people), I managed to score a spot on the street with 3-hour parking, which felt like a miracle. It does not take 30 minutes to find parking in Northeast Ohio.

We were now late for our ticket time to the Building Museum and access to this much-hyped Playground exhibit was granted for exactly one hour starting at the time of your ticket. I had no idea where we were or how far we would need to walk (in 100-degree heat) to get to the museum. I was getting a bit stressed again. I quickly gathered all of our things together, made sure the kids had their water bottles, got the baby into the stroller and then stopped to make sure my diaper bag was all zipped up.

It’s here I need to pause to tell you why this has become an important step in my routine. I always leave the front zipper of my diaper bag unzipped. It’s where I keep my phone, keys and sunglasses, and it’s become my bad habit to perpetually leave it unzipped because it’s easier for me to reach behind and grab my phone out of the un-zippered pocket than have to mess with unzipping it. But my husband gives me crap about it.

A few weeks ago while we were traveling in Toronto our family made a pitstop at the restrooms in a very busy Union Station. I went to grab my phone from said front pocket and it was gone. After my husband had just scolded me once again for always leaving that zipper open, his fear had just come true: my phone had been stolen. When my husband came out of the bathroom, I let him know that my phone was gone, unless of course he was playing a mean joke on me and he had taken it, which of course is exactly what had happened. Point taken. So now, I double check to make sure everything is zipped up.

Back to the Building Museum. I walked up to the entrance behind three other women pushing strollers, which should have been the first indication of what was about to accost my nervous system. This entrance, of course, was all stairs and the four of us awkwardly wrangled our strollers this way and that to get inside. It was a moment of maternal commiseration. But we made it. We got inside, welcomed by a wall of strollers parked around this “Playground,” which is actually very cool and fun, but also what every other parent/nanny/grandparent decided they needed to be doing on this particular 100-degree day in Washington, DC. The place was a madhouse. We were now a good 15 minutes late, meaning my children only had 45 precious minutes left to explore this Playground so we hurried along to find the entrance. Of course, there was only one way in and one way out.

As we searched for the entrance to this thing, we passed a table that had some children’s books displayed. I recognized the book. I recognized the book because it was a book I studied before I pitched my children’s book manuscript to an agent at the recent Editors and Agents conference I attended in May. I studied that book because it was written by the agent I pitched to. And there that agent/author was, sitting behind the table doing a book signing at the Building Museum on this very random day that I decided to take my kids to said museum. I had no idea. I stopped and said hi. She said I looked familiar. That made me happy. If you will recall, she did not like my pitch. But again, signs.

My kids didn’t care. They just wanted to play. So we made our way to the entrance and got in line behind a woman who looked familiar. I saw her son and he looked familiar too. But I couldn’t place how I knew them and chose not to say anything. An hour later, walking down the streets of DC on the way to lunch, I remembered how I knew her. Her son was in the same gymnastics class as my daughter. I sat next to her for eight weeks in winter while our kids tumbled and jumped. I should have said hello.

My kids played. They were kind of into it. My daughter fell at one point and hurt her knee and that was the end of her enjoyment of the Playground. The place was swarming with kids and people and my nervous system was already fried. There were other exhibits I wanted to check out, so I got the kids out of the play space and we made our way to a corner of the museum, where, wouldn’t you know it, there was an entire exhibit dedicated to building children’s books. I kid you not. I probably should have known this. I did not. We went in. My kids were bored. I made a mental note that I totally need to come back to just study this place on my own time (ha!). At this point my kids were complaining that they wanted lunch. There was one more exhibit we wanted to see—it was all about Lego’s, so duh. We walked to the elevator.

On the way, we passed a man I recognized. But again, I couldn’t place how I knew him. I had one of those moments where I saw him, recognized him, continued to walk, then did a double-take at the same time he did. My introverted tendencies predisposed me to not say anything but he said hi first so I waved and said hello in my best “I totally know you” voice and went on my way. On that same walk an hour later to lunch, I remembered, too, how I knew him. His daughter was in the same swim lessons as my daughter. Three random people I knew in a 1.5-hour span at the Building Museum. I guess I need to get out of the house more?

We walked to lunch. We met my husband. We had a nice lunch. It was expensive even though we just ordered sandwiches and cookies and an iced matcha and a cappuccino. That’s DC. It would have cost half as much in Cleveland. The kids didn’t like their food. They were just there for the cookies. My parking time was almost up and my husband needed to get back to work. We departed and discovered that the restaurant my husband chose was actually on the same street we parked on, just about six blocks down. Sweet. We walked back to our car in 100-degree heat.

As I approached our car, there was a woman in front of me also packing up her car. I got the kids in and folded up the stroller. This random woman approached me and asked, “Are you Ashley?”

WTF. How is it possible that I know this woman, too? She did not look familiar.

“Yes,” I responded very tentatively.

“I have your wallet.”

Seriously, WTF?

“Oh! Thank you!” I had no idea I was not, in that moment, in possession of my wallet. It must have fallen out when I was double-checking the zippers. I guess it doesn’t really matter if the bag is zipped up or not.

She walked back to her car and returned with my huge, fat, wallet containing my driver’s license, all my credit cards, maybe some cash, and every important piece of information I need.

“I found it on the street right outside your passenger door and didn’t want to just leave it there. I looked through it and found your business card with your yoga email address and I sent you an email. I’m so glad we met up. Gotta love three-hour parking.”

Yeah. I thank her profusely but not profusely enough because how can you thank a kind-hearted woman enough for picking up your wallet off the streets of DC? And how do you not believe in God, or the universe, or something, when that same person who picked up your wallet happens to return to her car at the exact same time you do so she can return it to you?

She drove off. This story would only be better if her car had an Ohio license plate with the school magnet on her bumper. It, alas, did not. I’m not that lucky. I got in the car, flabbergasted at the morning I’d just had. Something was in the air. I checked my email for the first time that morning, and sure enough, I had an email from this woman saying she found my wallet.

We drove home. Went to the pool with some friends. My 16-month old drank too much pool water because she thinks that’s what you do with a concrete hole full of water.

It was 100-degrees.

I didn’t recognize anyone random at the pool.

There’s a lot of ice cream in your immediate future. Also, what’s up with Tuesday, July 21?

Sunday, July 19

• National Ice Cream Day

• National Urban Beekeeping Day

Monday, July 20

• Global Hug Your Kids Day

• Moon Day

• World Jump Day

Tuesday, July 21

• Invite An Alien To Live With You Day

• Take a Monkey To Lunch Day

Wednesday, July 22

• Mango Day

• National Hammock Day

Thursday, July 23

• National Sprinkle Day

• National Vanilla Ice Cream Day

• Peanut Butter and Chocolate Day

Friday, July 24

• International Self Care Day

• National Cousins Day

Saturday, July 25

• National Hot Fudge Sundae Day

With gratitude,

Ashley